Three Different Days or Times

Forgive me, watchdog.
Bowled over by the sweet shattering gunk of success,

I had this idea to run a poetry newspaper or newsletter sort of and it had different kinds of things in it that we thought people might want to read if they liked the poetry and the first issue coming out since I thought of   it and I’d done work and other people had, writing and designing something and parts were wrong in it but maybe it was good anyway. It was a

I listen to the pinnacle of aching feet. My time is tied to my enterprise’s risk of failure. But when I realized I wouldn’t be late but rather a few weeks early for my appointment with the dermatologist, I turned around
  and stopped in Belfast to shop the co-op for groceries, buy a book I’d never seen by Alice Notley, see an art show at the local Farmland Trust, and buy a cod-based burrito at the gay-friendly wrap shop behind Main   Street and still got back here to check the post office and reschedule with a client who showed up 100 minutes   too early before I saw the person who had scheduled for  this time.
This time.
This time.


 STEVE BENSON        03 12 15

A N N E X   P R E S S     2015